Man pays $79K for ride on one of only two remaining Second World War Lancaster bombers

Matthew Munson, age 34, of Henley-on-Thames, England, is an affable, unpretentious and ridiculously wealthy Brit. By his own admission he is captive to some impulsive spending habits, particularly when the spending involves mechanical things — planes, trains, helicopters, automobiles and the like, but no boats.

His wife Helen is familiar with her husband’s financial proclivities. As she puts it, she’s “a bit used to him doing these sorts of things,” such as buying a $250,000 Ferrari to add to his Ferrari collection (he owns 12) without asking her first.

“I didn’t realize I hadn’t told her,” Mr. Munson says, laughing.

Ms. Munson was duly informed in advance of his latest gambit. She even encouraged it, if not the final price.

The electrical engineer with the thriving international IT business paid $79,000 in an online auction for a seat on an original, Second World War, Canadian-made Lancaster bomber, departing from the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum at Hamilton International Airport Monday for a two-month air show tour of England.

“The Lancaster, from an engineering point of view — what they achieved in the 1940s when it was designed — is absolutely amazing,” Mr. Munson says from the museum hangar, looking out at the plane on the nearby tarmac.

“The noise, the sights, the smells of the airplane — all of it is amazing to me. It has been 50 years since the last Lancaster went over to the U.K. What you need to understand is that for us, in the U.K., the Lancaster is the plane that effectively won the war.”

In Britain, the Lancaster is the John, Paul, George and Ringo of Second World War aircraft. It’s a winged celebrity of staggering magnitude, both in terms of physical stature (31.09-metre wing span, four Rolls-Royce Merlin engines and a capacity to take off loaded with 10,000 kilograms of bombs) and significance.

More than 7,000 were built during the war years, in Britain for the most part, plus a few hundred more at the Victory Aircraft plant in Malton, Ont.

They were made with lethal intent: to go fast, at great height, and drop bombs on enemy targets. They inflicted great damage, but at a terrible cost: 10,569 Canadian airmen were killed flying in Britain’s Bomber Command.

But for all its heroics, the Lancaster is practically extinct today. Only two remain that are capable of flight: the one in Hamilton that was built near the end of the war and never actually took a life, though it saved many, post-war, as a search and rescue plane; and a second at the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight in Lincolnshire, England (Prince William, the Duke of Cambridge, is the flight’s patron).

Hence the international buzz — two British newspaper journalists are in Hamilton to document the plane’s departure — surrounding the Canadian Lancaster’s transatlantic journey and subsequent reunion with its English cousin.

“The Canadian Lancaster’s visit won’t just be the event of the summer, or the year, or the decade; it’s going to be the event of a lifetime,” says Tom Allet, editor of Memorial Flight, a journal dedicated to Lincolnshire’s Lancaster.

“It is not just the U.K.’s Lancaster fans who are excited. I know of people travelling from Belgium, France and Holland to see the two Lancs in the air together, and I have heard of others travelling from far and wide, and even one coming from Australia.”

Mr. Munson, meanwhile, isn’t the only Lancaster enthusiast anxious to be a part of the fun. Scores more have paid $4,000 each for a seat in an observation plane that will shadow the Lancasters at several air shows, while tickets for the shows themselves, says Mr. Allet, are selling like “proverbial hotcakes.” (The Canadian Lancaster also has several private functions booked).

Yes, this trip is a big deal. The chief pilot responsible for ensuring the deal goes smoothly is Don Schofield, a retired Royal Canadian Air Force/Air Canada pilot.

“This is the crown jewel of my aviation career,” says the 72-year-old, one of only 10 pilots worldwide licensed to fly a Lancaster. (More people are qualified to fly the space shuttle, than the bomber).

Mr. Schofield affectionately refers to the plane as “Vera” and likens her to a Stradivarius violin. She is a masterpiece, bound for England, with seven crew and $155-million in liability insurance.

“Flying a Lancaster is like driving a truck, with the power steering turned off,” Mr. Schofield says.

“It is what pilots refer to as a muscle plane, so it is hard to steer it around the sky accurately. It can kill you in a flash, if you are short on skill, or careless.

“The history around this airplane is huge but, for whatever reason, only two survive today, and these gallant old gentlemen who flew on them are leaving us at a great rate, so if we were going to do something like this, it had to be now.”

It is time for a 40-minute test run down to Buffalo, N.Y., to fine tune the plane’s communications gear and give Mr. Munson, the Lancaster rookie, some flying time to acquaint himself with the plane’s interior and 69-year-old gadgetry.

A crowd of tourists — mostly grandparents, with the grandkids — has gathered to watch the big old bird take flight. A port engine spits to life, then a second, a third, and the fourth.

And then she is airborne and pushing east, with the sun at her back and a crowd below taking photographs. Inside the hangar, a group of seniors is listening to a museum guide give his spiel about the Avro CF-100 Canuck, a jet fighter.

Don Holland leans on a walker near the rear of the pack. He is tanned, bent and mostly blind.

“I was a tail gunner on a Lancaster,” he says. “And let me tell you, that seat at the back of the plane was one hell of a tight squeeze. I flew 30 missions. We always came back home. You had to have faith, and you had to have luck.

“What always shocks me now, seeing the Lancaster, is just how big she is. Back then, I never really thought of her as being so big.”